An open letter to Trump supporters

Dear Trumpers,

How does it feel?

Your man has won. He and his newfound friend from Indiana are huddling in that hotbed of populism, Midtown Manhattan, in the upper reaches of Trump Tower. I suspect they are still slightly bedazzled by the good fortune you have thrust upon them. Imagine: a few short weeks ago they were weighing the odds of impeaching President Hillary Clinton. Now she is an afterthought.

Yes, Trumpers, you gave that rigged system of ours a swift kick in the (pardon my Spanglish!) cajones. In the end it didn’t matter that Hillary won the (ahem) popular vote by two million — a larger margin than Nixon had when he won the presidency in ’68, or that Kennedy could claim when he won it in ’60.

You certainly taught cityfolk a thing or two. So what if that’s where most people live. You’ve heard enough about how it’s cities that keep the nation’s economy churning, and city people who pay the bulk of federal taxes — taxes that help pay for your cops and firefighters, schools and healthcare services. Are they even Americans?

Not according to the Electoral College!

And speaking of colleges, it was high time all those brainiacs in their ivory towers were bumped a peg or two. First they talked like The Donald was a joke, so much raw material for late night comedy. Then they said he was faking it, didn’t really want to get elected. Finally they made the biggest mistake of all — thinking that they, with their round-the-world travel, finicky diets and tenure, had so much as a clue about what makes you tick.

Showed them!

It’s almost funny. You helped elect our first black president (at least you say you helped, so many of you claim to have voted for him). But did he ever thank you? Hardly. In Elkhart, where they make those big RVs, the town was going down the drain until Obama came along. Now that everybody’s making money again, it seems like he was never there.

I can relate. It feels like all we hear about is how much everything is changing. Machines are taking peoples’ jobs, and what we used to think of as countries, with borders and flags, are little more than names on a map.

You didn’t ask for this.

It probably feels pretty good to have stopped all that dead in its tracks.

But here’s the deal: Now that you’ve done this thing, I want you to be as hard on The Donald as you were on Hillary and Obama. After your man is inaugurated, I want you to start keeping time, counting the days, the weeks and months.